


Rule #3

by PendulumChanges



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, otp: wait that's my word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PendulumChanges/pseuds/PendulumChanges
Summary: Some days I ended up changing most of her diapers, and some days Peter did.  Our best laid plans were frequently upset by the realities of life on the trail, but we both agreed that together was still where we wanted to be.
Relationships: Chasten Buttigieg/Pete Buttigieg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	Rule #3

**Author's Note:**

> This election is stressful and twitter is a nightmare and who knows what the future holds. The little seedling of this fic kept growing in my mind and it made me feel better. I hope it makes you smile too.

October 10, 2020  
University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire  
Zorn Arena 

*****

Josephine would not – stop – crying.

She was fine earlier, ping-ponging from Peter to Saralena to her new best friend, Senator Tammy Baldwin, to me and back to Peter again, enjoying the attention and making everyone in the holding room smile while we waited for the town hall to start.

Jo was distracted playing peek-a-boo with a 20-something campaign volunteer when Peter, Tammy, and Saralena left the holding room and headed down the hall toward the arena, but as soon as she realized Peter was gone, she had a complete and total meltdown. The volunteer tried to keep the game going, but seemed relieved to escape after a few minutes, saying that she wanted to see Pete’s speech.

Peter and I knew when we got to the venue that Jo was overdue for her afternoon nap. When we were only five minutes from campus she finally fell asleep in the car, so instead of getting a nice, long, planned nap on the drive over to this, our third event of the day, she was now simultaneously overtired and momentarily energized from a power-nap. Despite not yet reaching her second birthday and spending her days at campaign events, most of the time Jo really was a delight. Meltdowns like this one were few and far between and, Mom kept reminding me, were totally normal for kids her age, even for those who did not have a dad running for President. Our best laid plans were frequently upset by the realities of life on the trail, but we both agreed that together was still where we wanted to be.

Peter’s fears about being a mediocre father faded more and more as each new day of her life came and went. He loved her from the beginning, but there was a steep learning curve when it came to actually caring for her. Anne was a calm and reassuring presence for him during those first few months, when we were still spending at least some of our time in South Bend, and of course Peter was a quick study. At about the same time as he started racking up delegates, Jo grew into an opinionated one-year-old, with his thick, unruly hair and the same intelligence in her eyes. Peter settled into fatherhood and I fell even more in love with them both.

Some days I was her favorite and some days Peter was. Sometimes I was the only one who could translate her adorable, half-formed words. Sometimes Peter was the only one who could get her to eat. One day, Peter pretending to sneeze was the funniest thing she had ever seen. Another day, when she was sick with a cold, she spent 18 hours straight refusing to do anything but lay limply on my chest. Some days I ended up changing most of her diapers, and some days Peter did.

And some days, like today, she was inconsolable because the dad she wanted wasn’t the dad who was available to hold her, so after ten minutes of struggling to calm her down, distract her, snuggle her... I gave in and decided it was time to go see Peter. I knew exactly what she needed and knew that there was no good reason not to make it happen. And Rule #3 definitely came into play here.

I scooped her up and carried her down the hall, shadowed as we always were these days by our new Secret Service detail. The whole way she squirmed and sobbed and hyperventilated in that way that is unique to exhausted toddlers. We rounded a corner into the backstage area, following the arrows taped onto the floor pointing the way to the stage. From behind the temporary curtain I could hear Peter’s voice over Jo’s sobs. It sounded like he was mid-way through answering a question from the fishbowl, which meant that luckily we had at least let him get through his speech before crashing the party. Saralena smiled sympathetically at me and handed me a few tissues as we passed. She always seemed to magically have exactly what we needed right at hand. We popped out through the gap in the curtains and halfway through a sentence, Peter heard us – well, heard Josephine – coming.

“And of course to me, that’s very much the point. Because as a mayor you have to get things done. It’s different fr--- Oh! Hi! Hey, my loves, what’s going on?”

As soon as she heard Peter’s voice, she whipped her head around and her eyes went wide. I carried her up the three steps onto the stage while she tried to hurl her body out of my arms and toward Peter. The crowd reflexively started cheering as soon as they spotted us, even though Josephine had tears streaming down her face and there was a not-insignificant amount of snot smeared on my rumpled shirt.

Peter reached out and took her from me and she latched onto him immediately, gripping his sweater in her tiny fists. She was still hiccuping and gasping a bit, but she’d stopped crying as soon as he had her. I handed Peter the tissues and, their eyes locked on each other, he wiped her tears away and talked to her as patiently as ever, as if there wasn’t an arena full of Wisconsin voters waiting for him to tell them why they should make him the next President of the United States.

“Sorry everybody,” I said, taking the microphone out of Peter’s hand. “Someone got a little upset when she realized Peter wasn’t backstage with us anymore.”

I dropped the microphone to my side and said, just to Peter, “Rule #3?”

He looked away from Jo and nodded, whispering to me in agreement, “No matter where, no matter what, she comes first. Right call, babe.”

Peter adjusted Josephine so she was settled on his hip so he could take the microphone back. I leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. The crowd let out a collective, “Awwww” that I knew meant that the momentary interruption was probably not going to cost us the election.

“Ok, thanks for your patience everybody. Jo is going to help me answer some questions, right honey? Good job. Ok, where was I? Look, a mayor’s experience...”

I went back down the stairs and stood off to the side to watch, in case Josephine calmed down enough to want to be put down, in which case I’d need to pick her back up so she didn’t fall off the edge of the stage, which might lead to another round of sobbing, but we’d cross that bridge if and when we came to it. Thankfully though, it was looking less and less likely that she was going to leave Peter’s arms anytime soon.

As he finished with the answer we had interrupted, she stared adoringly at his face, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was still in existence, since a few minutes ago he had up and disappeared on her. When the crowd applauded, her attention was drawn to them momentarily as she looked out across the sea of faces and waving signs and up into the stands. When the volunteer on stage read the next question, she studied him intently, her expression matching Peter’s perfectly. While Peter was answering, she yawned hugely and he cracked a joke. Everyone laughed and he kissed her cheek. During the next question, she laid her head down on his shoulder. When Peter invoked the day when Trump would no longer be President, not even the deafening cheers of the crowd woke her.

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks to one who shall remain nameless, but without whom this fic would suck. Chatting with you while I wrote it was the best part of my day.


End file.
